Stupid Ass Clocks
by Gentian Balboa
Summary: So this is basically just a short one-shot based on the tumblr post "wouldnt it be fucking scary if you had a clock that counted down until the moment you die. like what if it could be altered too like one day it says 70 years left but then you do something and it says 10 minutes left and youre like what the fuck i fucked up i fucked up i fucked up"


Jason remembers that moment so vividly it makes him sick to think about. He remembers the feeling of broken bones, the stench of his blood, and the horrendous sound of manic laughter. He remembers waiting until that maniac had left before crawling to the door of the warehouse, his body burning in protest with every movement. He remembers the fear that flooded his veins when he found that the door was locked.

And he remembers the moment he saw it and his world came crashing down around him.

He remembers stretching his arm out to reach the handle and seeing it. The small black clock on the inside of his wrist only haveing a few seconds left. The clock that was supposed to count down to the moment he would die. The clock that earlier that day had 80 plus years left on it. He remembers leaning his back against the cold steel of the door, and he remembers seeing another clock in sync with his own in the corner of the room. The only difference between them was his clock was not attached to a bomb.

He remembers laughing, not a crazed manic laugh that the sound of still makes his gut twist in disgust at the mere thought of, but something soft, sad and broken as he accepted the fact that he was going to die. That no one was going to save him. That this would be the end of his story.

He remembers choking out the words " 'm sorry Bruce." (Because he had failed him. Jason should have listened and he was going to die and he knew Bruce would blame himself for not saving him when it wasn't his fault) Just before everything goes blank.

No bright lights, fiery pits, or a garden in the sky.

Just nothing.

Then out of nowhere a burning pain in his chest only to find himself waking up in his own coffin.

And that had been a whole other experience.

He does not remember every small detail like he did the day he, well, died. But he does remember what it felt like though. The feeling of bugs crawling on his skin. (He can still feel them on worse days.) The feeling of scratching his way through the lid of his coffin, breaking his nails and tearing apart his fingers as he did so. The feeling of digging through six feet of dirt (That feeling had never really left his hands) and the pain when he breathed some of it in. He remembers the feeling of cool spring air filling his lungs when he finally reached the surface. The feeling of finally being out of being free and the feeling of running as fast as he could to get away from where he had just been buried alive.

The last thing he remembers clearly is the bright headlights of a car rushing toward him and then, he is not really sure.

Everything that had happened after that was a blur or covered in the hazy green of the Lazarus.

But after everything was said and done, he had made sure to never look at the small black clock on the inside of his wrist again.

...

Tim had never really cared about the small black clock on the inside of his wrist. He never cared about knowing how many years he had left or when the exacted moment he would die was. He was just happy that it did not make any noise. The sound of a clock ticking always brought back unwanted memories of days alone in a house far too large for him. Slowly being suffocated by the silence for months at a time.

He thinks that is one of the reasons he loves Jason so much.

They had been dating for a little over a year and two months ago they had moved in with each other.

And it was never quiet.

Whether it was Jason humming a song under his breath or the sound of him in the kitchen at three in the morning, there was always some form of noise. Tim thinks it's funny that someone trained by the Batman would never be able to stay quiet for long. But Tim would never complain. He loved every moment.

Silence always made him feels as though he couldn't breathe and it made him feel as though he was going crazy.

He supposes that the silence is what he really hates about this situation. Not the rain beating down against his face or the knife lodged in his side. But how damn silent it was.

He not sure how long he had sat there, sitting in a puddle of what he hoped was the rain and not his blood, when he finally heard a noise. The sound of feet splashing against the water coming toward him. Normally he would start to panic, considering the situation he was in, but he was far too thankful for any form of sound. He cranked his neck to the side and opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at the source of the sound. He felt a rush of relief when he saw Jason and his stupid helmet (why did he add lips and a nose?) running toward him.

Tim could hear a vulgar string of curses leaving Jason mouth as he got closer. A small smile graced Tim's lips. Jason was never quite. Jason was by his side in a matter of seconds. Not stopping the curses falling from his mouth for even a moment. "Tim. I need you to talk me, Tim." He can hear the panic in Jason's voice and he can't help the small chuckle leaves his lips. He is amazed by how just the sound of Jason's voice calms him to the point that he can laugh, even though he is bleeding out.

He hears Jason swear again and lift him into his arms. Tim hisses in pain when the knife in his side is moved into a horribly uncomfortable position. (There is not really a comfortable position when you have a knife in your side though.) He shifts to move pressure off his wound and that is when he sees it. The small black clock on the inside of his wrist only had a few minutes left.

He is not really sure what the emotion that rushed through him is called.

Tim thinks it is probably something along the lines of worry, not for himself though, but for Jason. Because he can hear Jason rambling trying so hard to keep him awake. Because he is not sure if Jason will be alright without him. If Jason will be able to handle the bad days or nights alone. Tim is not sure what is going to happen after he is gone. He feels his chest tighten and the air leaves his lungs at the thought of what could happen, the thought of meeting Jason far too soon on the other side. He wants, needs to say what he feels aloud, to make sure Jason understands. To make sure, he has nothing left unsaid. He takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

"I love you," Tim says softly the words nearly being drowned out by the sound of the rain. "I don't think I would have lasted very long if it wasn't for you and I love you so, so much Jason. That's why I want you to know just how much you mean to me and that you will be okay without me." He hears Jason swear again and start to pick up his pace, his grip tightening around him. He does not have the strength to shift to move so the knife is in a less painful position.

"Don't say shit like that Baby Bird. You are going to be fine." Tim wants to tell Jason that he knows he's not, but he knows Jason was not trying to convince him but himself. He can hear Jason start to ramble again, a more desperate tone in his voice as he talks. Tim knows he is not going to last much longer, he can feel himself drifting. He musters the last of his strength, wanting just once more to say it.

"I love you." He forces the words from his lips before everything goes dark.

...

Tim can honestly say that he is surprised when he wakes up in the med bay of the Bat cave. He was certain that he should be dead. He is not really sure how he got here, His mind is still hazy. Being stabbed and on who knows what type of pain killers could do that. It takes him a moment to regain his senses and when he does it hits him like a freight train.

Jason.

Jason carried him here.

He needed to find Jason.

Tim can hear the heart monitor pick up as he tries to force himself to sit up. His wound burns in protest at the movement, but he doesn't stop. He needs to find Jason. Tim stops his movement when he feels a hand gently placed on his chest (There was someone else in the room? Why hadn't he noticed?) and push him back down. "You shouldn't be moving yet." He looks up and feels his heart skip a beat at the sight of Jason.

Jason who looks like he hasn't shaven in weeks, whose hair is a complete mess, whose eyes are red and have dark bags under them. He had never seen Jason this worn out before, and they had some pretty horrible days before. "

"What's wrong." He asks before he can even think about what he is saying. The harsh laugh that comes from Jason nearly makes him cringe. (Years of training with Batman is the only thing that stops him from doing so.)

"I thought I lost you," Jason says in a broken voice and suddenly everything makes sense. Jason sits down on the edge of the bed and lays his head gently on Tim's chest, being mindful of the wound on his side. Tim wrapped his arms around Jason's shoulders and waits for the older man to continue. "Your heart stopped. We had to restart it, but even though you were breathing and Bruce said all your vitals were normal, your clock wouldn't move. And I thought I had lost you." Tim can feel Jason shaking, he knows that he is crying and he honestly wants to cry himself. Because he had put Jason through that. He can see out of the corner of his eye that his clock has started again and he does not know what to say.

So he doesn't.

He sits in silence and just holds Jason.

Tim is not sure how much Tim had passed before Jason stops shaking.

Tim sucks in a breath through his teeth and forced himself to speak. "Clocks are stupid." He croaks out. He hears Jason laugh and he thinks time might have stopped for a moment. Jason sits up and places a chaste kiss on his lips before simply stating, their noses a breath apart.

"Stupid ass clocks."


End file.
